Zander sighed.
Well, at least he would be on a boat and not in the water. It was a small consolation.
For now, it was time for a quiet evening with his wife, who loved the water. The irony of it never failed to amuse him. God sure had a sense of humor.
Reaching for his keys, Zander rose. “Let me know what time.”
A lopsided smiled crooked Morgan’s mouth. “So you know when not to show up?”
“Funny.”
Morgan chuckled as though it really was. “Tell Elly and Morgan Jr hi for me.”
“Don’t know any Morgan Jr, but I’ll tell Elly.”
“I’m tellin’ you, you oughta call the kid Morgan. Works for a boy or girl.”
“Yeah, yeah. See you tomorrow.” Zander shook his head as he walked off.
The names he and Elly had been discussing were an interesting blend of his Hispanic heritage and her Hephzibite one.
The name Morgan fit into neither category.
She’d suggested Javier to honor his late brother but, as much as he’d loved Jave, he wouldn’t have his kid carry a name with a legacy like the one his brother had left. Gangs, drugs, and God only knew what else were forever tied to Jave’s name.
Tomorrow’s boat ride crowded out thoughts of the little one growing inside Elly.
Well, he’d never been to Alcatraz. While he couldn’t say he was looking forward to the ride out there, at least he’d finally be able to say he’d gone.
And, if the boat didn’t sink along the way, he could be one of those people who made jokes about escaping Alcatraz Island.
₪ ₪ ₪
This was a horrible idea. Being here, now, with this group.
The boat bouncing across the rough bay seemed to agree. Darkness encroached outside the cabin windows and a wispy fog circled the boat like the fingers of the dead.
Thank goodness for the boat’s cabin lights. Not that they completely eliminated the creepy factor.
Chloe Nelson’s stomach lurched as the nose of the boat caught air, then slammed into the water.
She would not be sick. Especially not in front of Viktor.
She slanted a glance at him through the hot pink hair hanging in her face.
His shoulder-length blond hair was back in its usual ponytail. Like the rest of them, he wore all black, from his sneakers to his skinny jeans to his leather jacket.
Turning his head, his ocean eyes collided with hers. Gosh, those eyes. What she wouldn’t give to look into them every day.
He grinned.
Heat flamed across her face and she jerked her gaze away.
Sure, he was hot, but seriously. Who was she kidding? He was in his twenties and she was only seventeen. Plus, he was cute and she was, well, not.
Like someone like him would ever notice someone like her.
But he had, hadn’t he? The fact that he wanted her in his elite group proved it, right? After all, there were only a dozen people in this group and she was one of them.
Too bad noticing her talents was a far cry from noticing her.
The boat slowed.
Viktor rose on steady legs, seemingly unbothered by the turbulent waters beneath them. “Okay, everyone. Remember why we’re here.”
As if his eyes weren’t enough to suck her in, there was that accent. She thought it might be Russian, but she hadn’t asked. Not like it mattered. She was melted butter in front of him.
“Stop deportation! Keep families together!” One of Viktor’s friends, she thought his name might be Mike or something, fist pumped the air.
Viktor smiled. “We’ll make them pay attention, right?”
Heads nodded around the cabin.
“We’ll split up. Cover as much ground as we can in the next few hours. Tag it all, inside and out. Go big.”
Or go home. She really wanted that second option right now.
But getting a group together to tag the island with graffiti had been Viktor’s idea and he’d invited her, her, to join his group of artists. He’d even asked her to invite some of her most talented friends.
No way she could let him know she was having second thoughts.
“Who’s with me?”
She joined her voice with the rest of them, mostly because she didn’t have a choice at this point.
“Now, we gotta leave the island by four. Don’t want to take any chances someone will see us, right?” Viktor checked the fancy silver watch on his wrist. “It’s after midnight now. Plan to be back on board by 3:45, okay? As much as I don’t wanna leave anyone behind, we can’t be hunting you down.”
The threat hung.
No, she definitely did not want to be left behind.
Pulling out her phone, she set the alarm for 3:30.
A quick scan of the group showed several of the others doing the same.
Huh. Funny that it was only the taggers she knew who were setting alarms.
Out of the dozen people in the group, she knew four of them. Three were her friends, and the fourth was Viktor himself.
The others were artists Viktor had brought in from… somewhere. They were all older, probably in their twenties. And not one of them was setting an alarm.
Whatever. At least she wouldn’t be left behind.
If she was left behind, she’d get caught.
Her dad would kill her if that happened. Mostly because it might interrupt his social life.
The guy driving the boat cut the engine.
It was time.
She grabbed her backpack. The aerosol cans rattled together inside, the sound both familiar and comforting.
Viktor hopped easily from the boat’s deck to the dock and tied off the boat while the captain retrieved the gangplank.
They disembarked, then the captain pulled up the gangplank as Viktor untied the boat. The engine growled to life and the boat slowly chugged away from the dock.
He was leaving them?
She struggled to pull in air.
“Where’s he goin’?” Switch, her closest friend in this group, nodded at the boat as it churned through the waters, leaving the island – and them - behind.
“Less suspicious if he’s anchored out a ways. If the Coast Guard sees a boat here at this hour, they’ll investigate.”
And none of them wanted that.
Switch, who resembled a paintbrush with his bushy afro and toothpick build, nodded.
It made sense, but it didn’t make her feel any better. “Can you call him if something happens? You know, someone gets hurt or something?”
Viktor nodded. “He has a cell phone.”
Of course he did. Who didn’t?
Sometimes she was so stupid.
At least Viktor didn’t make fun of her like most people, present company included, would’ve. Well, except for Switch. Switch always had her back.
Viktor offered a confident smile. “It’s okay. He’ll just be out a short distance. You’ll be able to see him from shore.”
Well, maybe that wasn’t so bad, then.
‘Course it wasn’t so bad. They were all in this together. Not like the captain would leave them out here.
“Okay, everyone. Remember, be back here by four or you’ll be swimming back to the city.”
They trudged up the path. All of the guys easily outpaced her with their longer legs, but Switch stuck with her. She adjusted her backpack, the cans clanking together, the noise loud in the silence of the island.
Leaves rustled in some foliage to their right as a bitter wind swirled around them.
A ginormous building loomed as they rounded a corner.
Windows stared like the eyes of the dead.
“This place gives me the creeps.” Her voice shook as she tried to remind herself that the building wasn’t as ominous as it appeared.
“This whole thing’s pretty whack.” Switch’s voice was barely above a whisper. Any softer and she wouldn’t be able to hear it.
“Then why’d you come?” She had her own reasons, numero uno being
one cute accented man with eyes that swallowed her whole, but Switch wouldn’t be taken in by that.
He shrugged, but hesitation marked the movement. “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you.”
“Really?” He was watching out for her?
“‘Sides, this place is legend. To be here, doin’ what we do, it’s epic, right?”
Or crazy. Depended on how you wanted to look at it.
She forced a smile she didn’t feel. “Well, then, let’s make it epic.”
And hope they survived the night.
If any of the legends were true, they might not be that lucky.
₪ ₪ ₪
“Think anyone’s here?” Nikolas’ whisper sounded loud in the black of night.
Viktor tightened his grip on the gun held firmly in his hands. “I think we can’t assume there isn’t.”
Someone had killed Sergei. Likely during his midnight excursion here.
They’d been angry when there was no word from Sergei the day after he came here, then concerned when one day stretched into two. By the time they found out his body had been sitting in the morgue since a fisherman found him, they’d already concluded he was dead.
He wouldn’t have gone rogue. Everyone knew how Oksana handled deserters.
He and Nikolas moved silently toward the Model Industries Building hovering on the edge of a cliff. Filtered moonlight cast the uneven terrain in a haunted glow, giving a clear view of the long-abandoned, three-story corpse.
A chain link fence surrounded the structure, screaming that they weren’t welcome there.
At one point, it had been some kind of laundry or work facility, if memory served him correctly.
Now, the massive stone structure was in horrible disrepair. He hoped it didn’t collapse on top of them.
With the Parks Service maintaining the island, the idea that they’d find what they were looking for in one of the buildings seemed ludicrous, but they had to start somewhere.
Besides, rumor had it the island was riddled with old military tunnels and he’d be willing to bet they’d find what they wanted in those.
The entrances to those tunnels had to be somewhere. An old building that looked like it ought to be condemned was as good a place to start as any.
It would’ve been a whole lot easier if they’d been able to find someone with the Parks Service that they could either buy or blackmail, but they’d come up empty.
While Nikolas kept an eye out, he scaled the fence and dropped to the other side.
Uneven ground littered with weeds stretched to the cracked and crumbling walls. A rickety metal staircase hugged the side of the building. Windows, most of them broken, watched him. He just hoped no one watched from inside as well.
After a quick scan of the desolate terrain, he nodded at Nikolas, who immediately followed him over. The rocky ground crunched beneath Nikolas’ shoes as he landed.
Viktor led with his gun, Nikolas a few steps behind him.
They approached a gaping hole in the side of the building. It had probably housed a door at some point, but whatever had been there was long since gone.
They edged inside.
The moonlight spilling through the broken windows failed to penetrate the absolute darkness surrounding them. The room felt cavernous, but he couldn’t see much of anything. There could be a small army poised to attack and he wouldn’t know it until it was too late.
They stood silently for the space of several heartbeats.
No sound reached his ears. If someone else was in here, that person – or people – remained extremely silent.
He hoped they were alone. But if not, he had the firepower to take care of it.
Pulling a small halogen flashlight from his pocket, he clicked it on.
Metal skeletons, from machines long since abandoned, disassembled, or looted, dotted the open space. Square concrete pillars, supposedly supporting the structure, looked on the verge of disintegrating.
A harsh wind carried a hint of sea spray in through the windows, misting his face with its icy fingers.
He wasn’t generally given to hysterics, but this place felt wrong.
The sooner they got out of here, the better.
Instead of turning and fleeing, as he so badly wanted to do, they moved deeper into the building.
The wind moaned through the space, an otherworldly sound that chilled his bones. Beside him, Nikolas muttered a derogatory phrase in Russian.
He couldn’t agree more.
Sweeping his light across the floor, he looked for any signs of trapdoors or secret hatches. Anything to indicate access to the underground labyrinth.
Assuming such a thing existed.
It might be no more factual than the myriad of ghost stories told about this island.
Which were just that. Stories. Not fact.
Right?
Something tickled his neck.
He swatted at it, but found nothing there.
Probably just a spider web. Certainly not ghost fingers.
Still, it’d be good to hurry this along a little. Clearing the first floor was taking longer than he would’ve liked.
As they moved toward the far end of the room, the sound of waves breaking against rock grew more pronounced.
He seemed to remember that this building had been closed because of a crumbling cliff wall. What if tonight was the night the whole thing decided to fall into the ocean?
Stupid! He was being jumpy and paranoid, allowing the island’s ghost stories to mess with his logic.
His light bounced off a set of stairs. Leading up… and down.
Well, if he wanted to find the hidden tunnels beneath the island, he wouldn’t find those by going up.
He led the way down the dark flight of stairs.
As they descended, he wrinkled his nose against the smell.
Damp decay combined with the earthy smell of mud, layered with the salty sea breeze. Not a great combination.
His feet hit the concrete floor and he rounded the corner.
Absolute blackness.
This must be what the grave felt like.
He shone his light around the room, the powerful beam fighting the encroaching darkness.
A sound that was half-whistle, half-moan swept through the room.
He suppressed the shudder threatening his bones.
Rough concrete lined three walls. The fourth wall, the source of the ghostly sounds, was mostly plywood.
Probably covering broken windows like the ones he’d seen upstairs.
Why someone had bothered to cover these but none of the others, he wasn’t sure.
Well, at least he wasn’t getting hit with a wall of wind and sea spray.
He moved the light around the room.
Empty.
That didn’t mean there wasn’t some kind of hidden doorway, though.
“Fan out.” His voice, barely above a whisper, echoed loudly in the barren space.
As he moved toward the concrete wall to his left, Nikolas headed in the direction of the plywood to the right.
He methodically moved his light along the wall. A myriad of cracks spider-webbed the concrete, but none of them were big or intentional enough to be a doorway.
The slab beneath his feet had fewer cracks, but still enough to make him question the stability of the floor.
If the sheer number of cracks was any indication, this building should have collapsed years ago.
Every blast of wind that buffeted the building threatened to bring the whole structure down. Or at least, that was what his mind told him.
The sooner they finished up in here, the better.
Reaching the corner, he headed down the next wall.
The concrete beneath his feet became rougher, almost buckled in places. Maybe from an earthquake?
Still, none of it looked like it hid a trapdoor. The slabs would be too large for a single man to move. Heck, even with his and Nikolas’ combined strength, they probably couldn’t move them.
>
Light from his right told him that Nikolas was almost to his location.
Evidently without finding anything.
A loud scraping noise echoed off the barren walls.
“Hey!”
Nikolas’ voice made him jump. He swung his light toward his comrade, who was only about fifteen feet away.
Making a mental note of where he’d left off, he closed the space between them.
Nikolas crouched in the corner, staring at the ground.
As he drew closer, Viktor saw what commanded Nikolas’ attention.
A hole, probably three by three, yawned in the floor.
Viktor stopped at the edge and aimed his flashlight beam down. A ladder descended into the space, ending at a packed dirt floor.
“This was on top.”
He followed Nikolas’ pointing finger to a wooden door with a few small pieces of broken concrete fastened to the top. The door had been painted gray to blend in with the concrete and with actual pieces of concrete attached, it was highly convincing.
It was a small miracle Nikolas had noticed it.
Dropping to his stomach on the rough ground, he angled his flashlight down and looked into the hole.
A passageway extended beneath the wall.
No sign of anyone inside, but his light only illuminated so far.
He pushed up and nodded at the hole. “Let’s check it out.”
Nikolas stuffed his light into his pocket and immediately started down the ladder. His feet hit the dirt with a soft thud and he turned, shining his light down the passageway.
“See anything?”
Nikolas shook his head.
“I’m coming down.”
Nikolas stepped out of the way as Viktor descended the ladder.
The passage inspired claustrophobia.
At only about two feet wide and barely six feet tall, it felt like the earth was closing in on him. The uneven ground beneath his feet caused him to stumble.
His hand shot out, bracing against the rough concrete wall. His gun clanked the hard surface.
Might as well have been a thunderclap.
The sound echoed down the corridor.
He froze. Waited for shouts. Footsteps. Gunshots.
All he heard was his own heart pounding and Nikolas’ rapid breathing behind him.
That didn’t mean the enemy wasn’t there, waiting for them to move closer. What if the next step forward pushed them straight into a wall of gunfire?
Empty Is the Grave Page 3